


A Piercing Revelation

by Trapelo_Road475



Category: Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 22:21:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trapelo_Road475/pseuds/Trapelo_Road475
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1970, Asbury Park.  Bruce wants an earring.  Steve is his semi-reluctant accomplice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Piercing Revelation

Bruce wants an earring. Like, a real one. He tells Steve this, touches a spot on his earlobe and gets that faint but determined smile. Yeah, he wants an earring.

It's 1970, and in Asbury Park, New Jersey, for all the tough mothers and boardwalk carnies strolling around with a lick or two of gold in their ear, there's not one damn shop in the whole state that's going to put a needle through a man's ear.

Steve reminds Bruce of this. But the crazy, determined little smile remains.

"Well yeah," Bruce says. "See you're gonna do it."

"The hell I am. I can't pierce no ears."

"It's easy. I seen my sister do it to her friend."

"So make your sister do it."

"She'll say no."

"Do it yourself." 

The argument is half a play, half for show - arguing for the sake of arguing, for delaying the inevitable, Bruce's big brown eyes and crooked crazy grin wearing Steve down like they always do. When the brash flash of teeth and the confident nod doesn't get him, the soft lidded gaze, the little pout of his lip will do him in for sure.

"Maybe I'll get some boardwalk barker to do it. Some gypsy."

"Yeah maybe you will."

"Maybe," Bruce says, "maybe I'll hitch up to New York, find a queer in the village who'll give me some gold."

"Yeah, and maybe you'll get your teeth punched in at the Port Authority."

There's a long silence, which is the salt-wind in their hair and the sand in their sneakers, the crisp hiss of a bottle of coke cracked and shared. 

And Steve sighs. And Bruce's hopeful eyes turn up and flash with mischief. How is it so goddamn impossible to say no to him?

Bruce steals one of his sister's earrings and Steve borrows the fattest needle he can find out of his mom's sewing kit, and they buy some Jack and some ice at the liquor store with the neon lady on the sign saying OPEN.

"You better not fuckin' flinch, or I'll wind up taking your eye out."

"Don't need two eyes to play no guitar."

"What about girls?" 

Bruce doesn't say anything. He lies with his head in Steve's lap, his ear all pink from the ice, and Steve's got the needle and the gold hoop, and the silence is shaky, tight breaths and Bruce's eyes slipping closed and his teeth on his lip and Steve praying he's got fingers deft enough to do more than riff on a guitar and.

The silence breaks with the sound out of Bruce's teeth, a grinding sound like an engine left still over the winter, struggling to break over into a scream. With the bead of blood on Steve's fingers and slick on the earring. Blood like a fight. Blood like a whisper. Whimper in the dark.

"There."

"Got it?"

"Good as gold."

"Shit."

"Want the ice back?"

"Yeah."


End file.
